


love is my religion (i could die for that, i could die for you)

by cliffedges



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 01:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20574272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliffedges/pseuds/cliffedges
Summary: Henry’s point of view of the scene where it’s raining and Alex is trying to tell Henry he loves him.





	love is my religion (i could die for that, i could die for you)

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: all the dialogue is taken from the book (red, white and royal blue by casey mcquiston).  
title taken from john keats’ letter to fanny brawne.

_ Alex_, is all he can think. _ Alex is here. _

Alex is breathing hard, and Henry doesn’t miss the tension in his shoulders, or the way he shivers, slightly, the rain soaking his hair and his clothes and his skin.

“Tell him to let me in,” Alex says, so quietly Henry almost doesn’t hear him. 

Henry closes his eyes, tries to steady himself and the dull thud of his heart against his ribcage. He lets out a sigh, but it’s thin and trembling and he feels a shudder go through him. 

Alex says something, tartly, distantly, to Shaan. All Henry hears is the blood roaring in his ears, and wishes he could do something, anything, to numb the anguish. They walk up the stairs to his room, and Henry is trying to breathe, to think straight, when Alex whirls around and yells at him. 

“Really nice,” he shouts, and the anger and hurt in his voice is almost too much for Henry, who nearly breaks down then and there. “Fucking ghost me for a week, make me stand in the rain like a brown John Cusack, and now you won’t even talk to me. I’m really just having a great time here. I can see why y’all all had to marry your fucking cousins.”

Henry clenches his fist, his nails digging into his sweat-slicked flesh and leaving half-moon welts in their wake. Alex doesn’t understand, can’t _ possibly _ understand.

“I’d rather not do this where we might be overheard,” he says, and Alex’s voice is sharp when he answers, “Do what?” 

He follows Henry into his bedroom, and Henry closes the door behind them, trying to focus on the stuttering beat of his heart in his chest, his bones, his nerves. 

“What are you gonna do, Henry?” Alex says again, and either he doesn’t know that he’s tearing Henry apart, or he doesn’t care. Henry turns, slowly. There’s a half-sob stuck in his throat like glass, but he swallows, hard, and looks at Alex. 

“I’m going to let you say what you need to say,” Henry says, willing as much coldness into his voice as he can, “so you can leave.” 

Alex steps back in startled hurt and disbelief, and Henry hates that he’s responsible for it. “What,” Alex chokes out. “And then we’re over?”

Henry’s throat stitches itself close, and he says nothing. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not when he knows it will always, always be like this, the same scene, the same vision, the same loneliness. The same silence that hangs between him and Alex now, so heavy it hurts.

Alex opens his mouth, and what comes out is sharp and incredulous. “Seriously?” he demands, and Henry stares at him. “What the fuck is going on? A week ago, it was emails about how much you missed me and meeting my fucking dad, and that’s it? You thought you could fucking ghost me? I can’t shut this off like you do, Henry.”

Alex spits his name furiously, as if it’s something he can’t bear to drag out, something he wants nothing to do with. Henry draws in a shaky breath, walking over to the fireplace. 

“You think I don’t care as much as you?” He sounds harsher than he intends to, and Alex’s eyes flash with defiance. 

“You’re sure as hell acting like it.”

Henry throws his hands up in the hair, exasperated. “I honestly haven’t got the time to explain to you all the ways you’re wrong—”

Alex snaps.

“Jesus, could you stop being an obtuse fucking asshole for twenty seconds?” he half-shouts, and Henry flinches.

“So glad you flew here to insult me—” he shoots back, but Alex isn’t done, and he cuts Henry off before he can finish.

“_I fucking love you, okay?_” Alex explodes, flushing, and Henry goes still as death.

The world quietens to static around him, and Henry can’t move, can’t speak, can’t seem to do anything but stare at Alex and feel as if his heart is being ripped straight out of his chest.

His jaw tightens, and he swallows thickly past his aching throat. All he’s aware of is the desperation that’s rolling off Alex in waves, and the words he’s dreamed of hearing for months, the words he has never allowed himself to hope for. Alex is shaking, tremors rocking his body violently, and he’s staring and staring at Henry, who doesn’t speak and simply says nothing, his eyes drifting in and out of focus.

“Fuck, I swear,” Alex manages, hoarsely. “You don’t make it fucking easy. But I’m in love with you.”

Henry exhales finally, letting a deep, uneven breath shatter all the way out. “Do you have _ any _idea what that means?”

“Of course I do,” Alex starts, and Henry can’t bear it any longer. 

“Alex, _ please_,” he says, voice raw. “Don’t. This is the entire goddamned reason I can’t do this, and you know why I can’t do this, so please don’t make me say it.”

Alex shakes his head, his eyes red-rimmed and tired and deeply hurt. “You’re not even gonna try to be happy?”

Henry chokes out a humourless laugh. “For Christ’s sake, Alex, I’ve been trying to be happy my entire idiot life. My birthright is a country, not happiness.”

Alex shifts, and reaches into his pocket for something. When he takes it out, Henry sees what it is. The note he left Alex months ago, the note that still reads _ Dear Thisbe, I wish there wasn’t a wall_. It broke him to write it, and now Alex throws it at him, almost hatefully, and watches as he picks it up with trembling fingers.

“Then what is _ that _ supposed to mean, if you don’t want this?” Alex says viciously, his tone cutting and dripping with rancid butter. 

A hollow sadness creeps through Henry like a chill. “Alex,” he hears himself say, “Thisbe and Pyramus both die at the end.”

“Oh my God,” Alex says tightly. “So what, was this all never going to be anything real to you?”

Something inside Henry twists at that, and he lifts his eyes to look at Alex, suddenly feeling a wave of red-hot anger and rage. “You really are a _complete_ idiot if you believe that,” he snaps, drawing back in fury. “When have I ever, since the first instant I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you? Are you so fucking self-absorbed as to think this is about you and whether or not I love you, rather than the fact that I’m an heir to the fucking throne? You at least have the option to not choose a public life eventually, but I will live and die in these palaces and in this family, so don’t you _dare_ come to me and question if I love you when it’s the thing that could _bloody well ruin everything_.” Henry cuts his gaze away, and runs a shaking hand through his hair, looking around the room and at everything but Alex. 

Alex is still, and he’s staring at Henry as if he doesn’t know him, as if _ he’s _ the only one whose heart is being broken and ripped in half. 

Henry says, his voice quieting into a raw whisper, “It was never supposed to be an issue. I thought I could have some part of you, and just never say it, and you’d never have to know, and one day you’d get tired of me and leave, because I’m—” he trails off, abruptly, helplessly. “I never thought I’d be standing here faced with a choice I can’t make, because I never… I never imagined you’d love me back.”

Alex is quiet for a minute, and Henry raises his head, a numb sensation coiling through him. When Alex finally speaks, his voice is rough with emotion.

“Well,” he says, at last. “I do. And you _ can _ choose.”

Henry lets out a terrible, icy laugh, devoid of humour. “You know bloody well I can’t.”

“You can _ try_,” Alex says simply, and there it is. The truth, dusted off and hanging thickly between them, so palpable that Henry feels as if he could reach out and pluck it from the air. When he lifts his chin, Alex is staring at him. “What is it you want, Henry?”

“I want you—” 

“Then fucking _ have _ me.”

Henry shakes his head, once. “I don’t want _ this_.”

Alex’s expression closes off, slowly, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Henry. “What does that even _ mean_?”

“It means I don’t want it!” Henry shouts, his eyes wide, spittle flying from his mouth. “Don’t you see, Alex? I’m not like you. I can’t afford to be reckless. I don’t have a family who will support me. I don’t go about shoving who I am in everyone’s faces and dreaming about a career in fucking politics, so I can be even more scrutinized and picked apart by the entire godforsaken world. I can love you and want you and still not want that life. I’m allowed, alright, and it doesn’t make me a liar; it makes me a man with some infinitesimal shred of self-preservation, unlike _ you_, and you don’t get to come here and call me a coward for it.”

He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, and he watches as Alex’s eyes clear with understanding. “I never said you were a coward,” is all Alex answers.

“Well, the point still stands,” Henry says.

Alex blows out an exasperated breath. “You think _I _ want your life?” he demands, facing Henry. “You think I want Martha’s? Gilded fucking cage? Barely allowed to speak in public, or have a goddamned opinion—”

Henry looks back at him, his blue eyes burning. “Then what are we even doing here, Alex? Why are we fighting, if the lives we have to lead are so incompatible?”

Alex’s voice rises. “Because you don’t want that either! You don’t want any of this bullshit. You hate it.” 

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Henry says sharply. “You haven’t got a clue how it feels.”

Alex moves closer, his focus trained on Henry. “Listen, I might not be a fucking royal,” he says, his voice low and edged with burnished steel, “but don’t pretend I don’t know what it’s like for your whole life to be determined by the family you were born into. The lives we want? They’re not that different. Not in the ways that matter. You want to take what you were given and leave the world better than you found it. So do I. We can— we can figure out a way to do that. Together.” Alex falls silent, and Henry looks at him, a million broken pieces unravelling from his skin, from each shuddering sob he has to bite back and shove down.

“I don’t think I can,” he says, finally, quietly.

Alex staggers back, flinching. It stings, but Henry pretends it doesn’t. “Fine,” Alex snaps. “You know what? Fucking fine. I’ll leave.”

“Good—” Henry says, relief rushing through him, because this nightmare can finally end, and he’ll deal with the pain later, but suddenly Alex is turning back and leaning in and Henry’s breaths are coming too fast and too shallow and too short, and Alex has the goddamned nerve to say, “I’ll leave, as soon as you tell me to leave.”

Henry’s heart stops. “_Alex_,” he chokes out. A low, cracked whisper.

Alex goes on, relentless. “Tell me you’re done with me,” he says, and Henry wants to, so badly, but he can’t. “I’ll get back on the plane. That’s it. And you can live here in your tower and be miserable forever, and write a whole book of sad fucking poems about it. Whatever. Just say it.”

And Henry can’t take it any longer, the grief, the endless screaming, suddenly replaced by an unsettling quiet. His expression shutters, and he grabs a fistful of Alex’s shirt collar, and says, his voice breaking, “Fuck you.”

Alex’s lips turn up, imperceptibly. “Tell me,” he says, his breath hot on Henry’s neck, “to leave.”

Henry’s heart catches in his throat, because he knows no matter how hard he tries to, he can’t, he just can’t, and before he knows it he’s pinning Alex against the wall and his mouth is on Alex’s and he’s kissing him, desperate and lovesick and feverish. And when Alex’s mouth softens on his, almost instinctively, and Henry tastes something vaguely like copper on his tongue, he knows, without a shred of doubt, that he is never letting go.


End file.
